The One Who Got Away
by Kay Willow
Summary: Yoruichi's style of mentoring is a little harsh and a little agitating. But it's definitely memorable... //Yoruichi/Byakuya?//


**.the one who got away.**

"The first thing you ought to know about me," Yoruichi said, "is that I'm memorable."

In a singularly impressive maneuver, the young Kuchiki lordling's eyebrows swept all the way up to his hairline. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked with scorn barely contained behind cool dismissal.

She knew his type. Spoiled. Raised to be perfect and spoiled and untouchable. _Better_ than normal people. Someday his loving father and mother would train the emotions out of him, and he would be just like every other boring soulless automaton else Yoruichi had ever been introduced to when she was his age.

They'd probably asked her to spend time with him as a warning: a parable of the fallen, of what he could become if he didn't keep coloring inside the lines and learn his alphabet forwards and backwards.

Well, she was going to show their pampered prince the time of his sheltered little life.

"It means that I'm memorable." Yoruichi smirked and folded her arms beneath her breasts. "People can't forget me. You're going to remember me until the day you die, little lord."

Kuchiki Byakuya looked as skeptical as he could without changing facial expressions; he was all of eleven years old, but he managed it with a much older man's dignity. "I plan to be the exception," he said.

"Oh yeah?" The smirk widened around the edges, until she was grinning. Better men than him -- and better women -- had made such plans. Unfortunately, Yoruichi was good at guessing what drove people, and what drove them crazy... and she liked having them at her feet, liked being admired and sought-after and prized.

_Let's see,_ Yoruichi thought. He was eleven and probably didn't have many friends, and the ones he did have were likely other noble children, as deep in the protocols and proprieties as he was. She'd just have to show him that you could be noble without being boring.

Instead of responding further to his challenge, she prowled the edges of the courtyard restlessly. "What do you do for fun?"

Byakuya watched her, composed and disapproving, like a little miniature version of his parents. "I study," he said. "I practice calligraphy and the shinigami disciplines."

Yoruichi decided that he probably didn't even have noble children for friends. She drawled, "Shinigami disciplines, huh?"

"Weapon skill. Spiritual skill. Footwork--"

"I know what they are," she interrupted him, grinning again. "My best friend is the captain of the 12th division, you know."

From the way his eyes widened around the edges, just slightly, he hadn't known. But Byakuya only said, "Then don't ask ridiculous questions."

Not impressed by her own nobility and connections -- Yoruichi made a note. "I didn't ask anything," she said, imperturbable. "A question usually involves particles and prepositions. Like this: How long have you been practicing shinigami disciplines?"

"Several years now." The young lord let himself inflate a little, adding, "My teachers say I excel at all four fields, and will likely enter the academy at the top of my class. --Can your friend say the same thing?" His lip curled up slightly, triumphant and trying not to show it.

Ohh, the brat had little teeth like barbed wire. Yoruichi laughed. "I'll pose the question and see if he's _shamed_ by your _hypothetical_ situation," she taunted him, and enjoyed his irritated flush.

That gave Yoruichi the idea. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and suggested, "How about flash step? How long have you been using that?"

Byakuya made a dismissive sound and flipped his own perfectly-tousled hair over his shoulder -- she couldn't tell if he was mocking her or not. "Years. I've fully mastered it."

Like it was that easy, nothing left to do or try. Yoruichi smiled widely. "Then why don't we play a game of tag?"

His eyes narrowed. "Tag?" he echoed skeptically.

_You're making it too easy, little lord._ "A children's game," she said generously, "in which one player is 'it,' and he chases--"

"I _know_ what it--" Byakuya broke off as he realized the trap he'd fallen into and scowled at her, the color rising in his face again.

Yoruichi allowed herself a pat on the back for breaking his distant demeanor. "Then let's play." But he wouldn't follow her on his own, not when she'd stung his pride. She gathered her energy and _stepped_, settling behind him and plucking the band from his hair. "That means you're 'it,'" she said helpfully, and then gathered and _stepped_ again.

She could imagine more than hear his indignant reaction, but she felt the unmistakable quick surge of spirit power behind her as he flash stepped after her. He thought he was a master, little lord Byakuya, but he moved blindly in her wake, trusting his eyes and ears and instincts instead of feeling for her spirit power, letting it tell him where she was and where her steps would take her. Yoruichi could feel his every movement before he even made it.

Take him out of his comfort zone; show him that he was wanting. Yoruichi led him a merry chase, far from the serene courtyard with its sculpted foliage and its artfully-shaped pond and its fat, lazy carp. When she felt him flag, she hesitated just long enough to let him catch a glimpse of her, think that maybe this time--

And then she was gone again.

Yoruichi finally let herself stop, perching on a tree branch by a small waterfall. Byakuya skidded to a halt almost directly below her and looked around wildly for a long heartbeat before sensing her presence and spinning to glare up at her.

"I don't think Kisuke has to worry about you shaming him anytime soon, if that was your best," she said broadly, twirling his hairtie between her fingers.

Byakuya was disheveled for real now, his hair flying about his face and his cheeks flushed dark with indignation and adrenaline. In a heartbeat he vanished, but Yoruichi felt it ages before he even started to move, as if he gathered his spirit power in slow motion, and she was a short distance away and waiting for him before his feet even touched the branch she had vacated.

"Just admit you lost," Yoruichi scolded him. "No one likes a sore loser."

He watched her, glowering, and then seemed to make a conscious effort to calm himself, smoothing his hair back and straightening his features.

"Return what you took from me," he said with icy dignity.

Yoruichi considered that. "When you can catch me in a game of tag," she decided. "Until then, it's mine. A symbol of my status, as the _god of flash_."

His expression twitch for just a moment until he could get it under control again; she grinned. Byakuya said witheringly, "Petty thievery? You're an embarrassment to your clan."

"No," she said, mild and smiling and predatory. "I'm exactly what my clan raised me to be. Just... a little more honest."

She could identify the precise second that he realized; his breath caught for just a beat, and he stared at her with his expression slightly slack, as if he'd never seen anything like her before. He likely hadn't. Yoruichi knew what she was: She was perfect, a picture of beauty and secret smiles. The coveted princess, spoiled rotten. Untouchable. Everything a noble was raised to be, really.

Except that she would never, ever be on the same level as the likes of him.

They played a dozen, a hundred more times, and Byakuya never did manage to beat her at tag. Yoruichi didn't care for those victories, because she was playing a different game entirely.

It wasn't until they met up again for the first time in a century that Yoruichi knew that she had won _her_ game -- knew from the slight way his eyes widened around the edges, from the way his breath caught for just a beat.

He'd never forgotten her. He had grown up, become a husband, a widower, a brother, a captain -- but he had never forgotten the young noble who had stolen his hairtie and danced nimbly out of his reach, everything he had been raised to be and somehow not a soulless automaton like the rest of them.

Maybe, at night, he dreamed about her instead of his wife (Yoruichi had never met her but she could guess: docile, sweet, devoted, lovely and never a challenge, not like her at all, because that would drive him crazy, wouldn't it?) and despised himself in the morning.

"It's been a long time, little lord," she said lightly. She could be a generous winner, and wouldn't dream of rubbing it in his face -- after all, _not_ caring would drive herself so much deeper into his heart.

Yoruichi made it a habit to always be the one who got away.


End file.
